


Guilt

by rosewaterangel



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Self-Harm, Survivor Guilt, hm hm another vent piece no one asked for, hxh - Freeform, i tried to post this before but it didnt happen sorry if it posts twice whoops, kurapika has untreated ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewaterangel/pseuds/rosewaterangel
Summary: Moooom, Kurapika's crying on the bathroom floor again :/
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall please dont read this if self-harm or eating disorders are triggering for you, please stay safe with what you read and stuff

Fingers gently brush over the trail of scars littered about his arms. All of them mangled, done in such fits of intense emotions, rage and deep, deep sadness. The older ones raised and pale, some barely visible. Others were red and angry and crusted over with scabs that he would pick at later, reminding him of what he had done to himself. How he isn’t a strong person. Not yet, he’s not strong enough yet to stop. He knew more scars would come, and he would have more fits of screaming, crying, sobbing into his pillow because there is nothing else in the world he can do to make it better.

Kurapika sat on the floor of the bathroom, the cold tiles pressed against his bare legs, giving him goosebumps. How the hell was it always so cold in here? Even in the summer, it felt like this lonely little apartment was going to freeze over. He could hear his phone go off in the other room, but he didn’t care. Why would it matter if he answered it anyway?

He laid down on the floor, his back pressed against the tub as he stared ahead of him, his eyes not focused on anything in particular. The cool porcelain of the bathtub seeped through his shirt, but he didn't care. His head pounded, body giving little shivers, his t-shirt and shorts not nearly enough to keep away the intense chill of the room.

He didn’t want to sleep. When he slept, the nightmares came. Terrible ones, ones that made him want to rip his heart out through his throat and watch it stop beating in his hand.

Why not try?

Why not see how far he can shove his hand down his throat, see what comes up? See what it takes to make him regurgitate the nothing he ate all day as a punishment to himself for this sickness that lives inside of him. The horrible emptiness and the rage and the fear.

He leaned over the toilet, sticking his fingers down his throat, retching, heaving into the bowl. All that came up was bile.

His fingers scratched the back of his throat, made his eyes water. All he could see were stars as he tried breathlessly to push out all of the liquid burning his mouth. He gasped, finally unable to take another second without air, feeling it burn his nose.

The people he loved had their lives ripped away from them and he’s still fucking here. He’s still here breaking his body down, destroying it even though it’s a goddamn miracle that it’s even here.

It must be a mistake.

Surely there is some reason why he outlived his father. His mother. Pairo..

Right?

There must be a reason he has to fucking suffer, right?

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, disgusted by the smell and the sight of it. He didn’t want to get up, but he did. He washed away the remnants of what he had done before he sat back down on the floor. His back was to the wall, knees pulled to his chest. Resigned, he rested his head between his knees, one thought reverberating in the back of his mind.

_I don’t deserve to be alive._


End file.
